His Forced Sicilian Bride
Jackie Ashenden
Chapter One
Caterina
ICLUTCH MYbouquet of calla lilies in sweaty hands, my stomach in knots. I’m in full bridal meringue, standing before the altar in a flouncy strapless gown of white silk, with a long gauzy veil held in place by a jewelled diadem. My father was grudging, saying at least I look the part, not that I care what he thinks.
Myself, I hate it. I hate all of it. I’ve never been the good, quiet Salvatore princess he wanted me to be. I’m too argumentative, too hot-tempered, too impulsive, and I hate being told what to do, all of which are terrible flaws in a daughter, according to my father.
But today is my wedding day and I have a part to play, no matter how much I hate it. As my father has impressed on me many times, I have to make up for the deaths of my mother and brother somehow, and all of this is for the good of the family.
The Roman cathedral where the marriage is taking place is full of people. My own family, the Salvatores, but also the families of our allies and naturally the family of my groom, Carlo Bianchi.
Our union was arranged years ago, by my father and Carlo’s, while I was still under-age, and for the longest time I forgot I was Dad’s most valuable pawn in his games of power. I was too busy completing my history degree via an online university and thinking about getting a job.
But naturally my father had other ideas. It was time I was married, he told me. Our hated enemy, the Wolf of Sicily, aka Vincenzo Argenti, head of the Argenti family, was growing ever more powerful and if we wanted to survive we had to ally with as many other families as we could. Marriage being the best way to do that.
I’ve got nothing against my groom, Carlo, but I barely know him and I suspect he feels the same about me. We both have no choice, though. In our families, in thecosa nostra, duty comes first and refusal is not an option. This is the way it’s always been and my personal feelings about it matter not at all.
Behind me, in the pews, I hear people shuffle and whisper then quieten. My stomach tightens as the priest looks at me. He can probably see how white I am behind my veil, but there’s nothing he can do for me. There’s nothing anyone can do for me. My family, the Salvatores, were powerful once, but years ago, when I was a child, my mother and older brother were killed in an Argenti hit that left my father badly injured. It was a blow against our family that we’ve been trying to recover from ever since, and consequently that meant finding allies however and wherever we could. Being seen to be weak is not something we can afford, not if we want to survive.
I did try to get out of the marriage. In fact, I’ve spent the last month arguing with Dad about the necessity of it, but he insisted. The old ways of bonding allies, by blood, were the strongest and I would do this for the family whether I liked it or not. Dad’s not big on choices.
Going against the head of the family isn’t done, especially if you’re a woman and the only child left. And most especially when your father has impressed upon you that if you don’t do this, the deaths of your mother and brother would have been for nothing.
The priest intones the beginning of the ceremony and I feel the combined attention of thousands of eyes on me. A family wedding is always a big deal.
Carlo shifts on his feet—he’s as excited as I am about this marriage, which is not at all—but he, at least, is present in the moment. I, on the other hand, am mourning the ending of my freedom, since once I’m his wife, I’ll be his property. I’ll be denied a career. My only value is my name and the protection it brings the Bianchis. Oh yes, I’ll also be an acceptable vessel for children, because how else to breed the next generation of family soldiers?
This was never the life I wanted—I wanted to study more, and maybe teach or get a job in a museum—but it’s the life I was born into and I have no choice. The silver lining is that at least as Carlo’s wife I’ll be out of my father’s house in Rome, where I’m guarded and protected like a princess out of a fairy tale. Being the sole remaining child of a family is dangerous, since my destruction would also ensure the destruction of the Salvatore family.
Another reason I can’t refuse my duty. I can’t be responsible for the death of the Salvatores, that’s a burden too heavy to bear, especially when I’m already carrying the deaths of my mother and brother. All I can do is marry Carlo and hope against hope that he’ll allow me some semblance of freedom, at least as much freedom as the wife of one of thecosa nostrafamilies can have. Ha.
I stare down at my feet in my white wedding slippers, trying to calm the frantic beat of my heart. It’ll be okay, I tell myself. Being married to Carlo won’t be so bad. It’ll make my father happy, ensure our family’s survival, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to build some kind of life for myself that isn’t just shopping and lunching, minding children and drinking cocktails with the other wives. I mean, really, it could be worse.
Except no matter how many times I tell myself that, I know it won’t be okay, and the dread sits heavy and cold in my gut. Shopping and drinking cocktails is all very well, but the risk of death is ever-present. You’ll always be a target and so will your children, and that’s not the kind of life I want for either myself or any kids I have. To be always looking over your shoulder in case of car bombs or ambushes, or any one of the thousands of ways you can die.
I’m in the middle of these depressing thoughts and spiralling, when I hear more shuffling and whispering behind me. The priest is still speaking but gradually he slows down and stops, a frown appearing on his face.
I glance at Carlo, who is also looking over his shoulder and frowning, so I do too, turning to see what or who is creating all the fuss. And just as I do, the big double doors of the cathedral burst open and suddenly the entire nave is full of men carrying guns.
Chaos erupts. There are screams and shouts, people leaping up from the pews and calling for bodyguards, weapons being drawn, but a man is striding down the aisle. He’s dressed in black, moving with a panther’s grace, an apex predator in a room full of prey.
Everything about him is dark, including the wave of violent energy that seems to emanate from him. He’s very tall, with black hair and sharp, sculpted features. Ink-black brows. A hard jaw. And eyes that burn like molten silver.
Those eyes are looking nowhere except straight at me.
I freeze, rooted to the spot as a wave of pure fear washes through me.
I know him. Everyone in the entire room knows him. It’s the Sicilian Wolf himself, Vincenzo Argenti, and he’s been slowly but surely amassing power and collecting allies for years. I’ve overheard Dad say that the Wolf wants all the families under his thumb and he’ll stop at nothing to do that, though no one knows the truth for sure.
What is true that is that anyone who resists him ends up dead.
He’s also the man who murdered my mother, Claudia, and my brother, Alessio.
‘Nobody move,’ the Sicilian Wolf says to the cathedral at large, his dark, deep voice echoing in the vaulted space. ‘No one wants a bloodbath in a church. Though I assure you, if anyone lifts so much as a finger, I will not hesitate to start one.’
